The Call of Cthandrhu
by Flanna
Summary: Andrew visits his brother Tucker, attending college at Miskatonic University. An unapologetically silly mix of Lovecraft and Sunnydale.
1. That's Just How Women Are

Title: The Call of Cthandrhu (part 1)  
  
Author: Flannery  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: None, but mentions events in "I Was Made To Love You" and "The Prom".  
  
Disclaimers: The Wells boys aren't mine. Miskatonic University is not mine either. Zillah is, but not her heritage.  
  
Feedback: I love feedback, and I'll love you if you feedback me.  
  
Notes: Pure silliness! Apologies to Mr. Lovecraft. Takes place circa Buffy season five -- Tucker's quite settled into college life, and Andrew is about 17.  
  
* * *  
  
So there really was a curse on this city.  
  
His flight had departed later than it was supposed to, leaving Andrew scrambling to his connecting plane.   
  
The bus from Boston had overheated. He'd fallen asleep while they'd been stranded, and awoke to find that the old lady up the aisle had stolen his gummy worms and fed them to the squirrels outside. It wasn't like he could say anything about the theft, either -- "Excuse me, are those my gummy worms? Because I had gummy worms, and now I have none, while you are up to your psoriatic elbows in sweet gummy goodness." No, that wouldn't work.  
  
  
  
It was late evening when he'd reached Arkham. His loitering earned a growl as a chubby goth girl tripped over his unattended backpack. Thankfully, Andrew had missed rush hour, though the sprawling walkways of the college grounds were still bustling with students.  
  
Andrew looked like a lost puppy as he wandered the vast campus. He'd toured UC Sunnydale in the spring, but this was much different. Everyone was more pale, for a start. The buildings were old and spooky-looking. And he could've sworn he saw a guy tiny stubs of horns on his forehead -- okay, so that wasn't so different from Sunnydale.  
  
A familiar voice cut through the chaos around him. "Lost, little boy?"  
  
"Tucker!" Andrew squealed happily. He threw his arms around his older brother in a warm hug.  
  
Tucker ruffled his brother's hair and casually draped an arm around his shoulders. "Welcome," he said, "to your personally guided tour of Miskatonic University."  
  
The younger boy bounced in place. He was so happy to see his brother; they hadn't seen each other since Christmas, with the enchanted eggnog incident. And he was excited to visit the famous Miskatonic campus. He'd read fantastic stories about the college, and his brother had made it sound like heaven on earth. Granted, a heaven full of ancient dark artifacts, unspeakable secrets and legendary books of blackest magic...  
  
"Tucker?"  
  
His train of thought was interrupted as a young woman approached them. She looked, thought Andrew, like a bipedal frog with brown Herbal Essences-commercial hair.  
  
Tucker gave a broad smile. "Zillah! I was just thinking about you!"  
  
The petite girl fixed large, unblinking eyes on Andrew. Suddenly he felt like scampering all the way back to Sunnydale and cowering under his bed.  
  
"Your younger brother?" The girl's voice seemed strangely inhuman.  
  
The dark-haired boy nodded. "Yes, this is Andrew. Andrew? Meet my girlfriend, Zillah Waite."  
  
"Charmed," said Zillah, offering her hand.  
  
Andrew shook it. She felt clammy, and he really wanted to wash his hand afterward. With bleach, and possibly holy water.  
  
"Zillah's totally wicked, Drew." Tucker exchanged a small smile with his girl.  
  
"Tucker tells me you dabble with the summoning of minor hellbeasts." Her wide mouth cracked into a sharp-toothed grin. "Well, I do suppose one must start somewhere."  
  
On his arm, Andrew had a scar from being bitten by a winged monkey. He did not consider that minor, and wanted to say so, but found himself unable to speak to the strange girl. He'd been tongue-tied around girls before -- females being so temperamental and able to kick his ass -- but he'd never before felt like his voice had died in his throat. (Not counting that mysterious laryngitis outbreak last year, of course.)  
  
Zillah seemed to look triumphant at his silence. "Your brother is shy," she said, again with the chill-inducing smile. She stood on tiptoes and gave Tucker a brief kiss on the cheek. "I must be off. I'll see you soon, my dearest little shoggoth."  
  
"Goodbye, my terrible beast of the shadows!" Tucker was casting the most adoring look at her as he waved his farewell.  
  
The small, creepy woman paced backward, brushing hair back behind her ear. "Nice meeting you, Andrew," said the evil thing. "We should go out for frogurt tomorrow, the three of us."  
  
As she left, Andrew wrinkled his nose and whispered, "Does she always smell like that?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"You know..." He shifted uncomfortably, trying to phrase it in the least offensive way. "Sorta ...fishy."  
  
"Fishy?" Tucker frowned ponderously. "Huh. I never noticed."  
  
He decided not to bring up the fact that she appeared to have gills.  
  
"So what'd you think of her?" Tucker asked.  
  
"She's strange."  
  
"She's not strange. That's just how women *are*."  
  
He shook his head in response. "Nuh uh. She's like, some weird semi-amphibious girl with a terrible family name and unspeakably dark heritage, hailing from a shadowy and myth-haunted coastal town where outsiders daren't enter, or something."  
  
Tucker snorted. "You read too many comic books. And anyway, you have a crush on a guy who built his last girlfriend."  
  
"But Warren doesn't smell like an anchovy," muttered a defensive Andrew.  
  
"Warren likes girls, with actual girl parts. Not little twinks who can recite entire episodes of Babylon 5."  
  
Under his breath, Andrew said, "Scenes, maybe, but not entire episodes."  
  
With a frustrated sigh, Tucker grabbed Andrew's duffel bag. "Come on, we're going to the dorm." He took off walking at a quick pace.   
  
"But I haven't seen anything yet!" The younger boy protested. It was a struggle to keep up with Tucker, who'd never seemed to stride so fast when they'd lived together. Except during the eggnog incident; all sorts of laws of physics had been broken in their noggian escape.  
  
"You're giving me a geek headache," his brother said crossly as they walked. At Andrew's crestfallen look, he added in a more gentle tone: "Besides, it's nearly dusk, and the night before the full moon. Not a night to be out for a stroll around here."  
  
"Kay," muttered Andrew. It was an acceptable explanation. Being from Sunnydale, he was used to odd happenings on certain moon nights. He hoisted his backpack up over a shoulder and sped up to match his brother's long strides.  
  
* * * 


	2. A Disappointing Trip to the Museum

* * *  
  
Early summer, a warm New England night.  
  
The couch was killing his back.  
  
Andrew watched the VCR blink a digital twelve o'clock. Musing, he decided he was much like that clock: good-for-nothing much of the time, but correct twice a day.  
  
Tucker had no roommate, nor a spare bed. Andrew spent two hours uncomfortably curled up on the worn couch before crawling into the small bed his brother occupied. The other man had simply groaned in his sleep and made room, just as he'd done when Andrew had been a child.  
  
* * *  
  
"I'm not having fun," Andrew whined as he pulled his socks on.  
  
There was a pause in the brushing noises. "What was that?"  
  
"Nothing," he called back, pouting to himself.  
  
A moment later, the running water in the bathroom stopped. Andrew heard his brother spit out a mouthful of toothpaste foam.   
  
"Take your Allegra, Drew." Tucker brought in a mug of water and set it on the nightstand next to the bed.  
  
"I'm almost eighteen! You don't have to tell me to take stuff," Andrew protested. He waited until Tucker wandered off to fetch his clothes, then swallowed the small pill with a gulp of water. The liquid felt distinctly foul as it slid down his throat. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he said, "Where'd you get this?"  
  
"Tap," muttered Tucker distractedly, "out of the sink."  
  
The answer relieved Andrew; he was afraid it'd come from the toilet. Tucker was cruel like that. "Oh. It tastes funny."  
  
With a long-suffering look thrown at his brother, Tucker grabbed the mug and took a sip from its rim. "It tastes like water, Andrew."  
  
"It tastes like -- " Evil, he wanted to say. " -- like the time when Larry stole that chalice with the goats all over it from the school librarian and made me drink stuff out of it. Not really the taste, exactly, but the sort of squiggy feeling it gave me."  
  
Blankly, Tucker stared at his brother. Then he said, "I have an essay I need to work on with Zillah. Perhaps you can occupy yourself for the morning."  
  
"I'll get lost," whined Andrew in a small voice.  
  
Tucker gave a highly annoyed sigh. "You won't. Just... go tour the museum, okay? Then I'll come get you when I'm finished, and escort you safely through the scary, scary campus."  
  
"You're mocking me!" The younger boy pouted.  
  
"Yes, Drew, I am. Observant, aren't you."  
  
"I didn't want to spend the day with you anyway, Tucker," said Andrew, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. "You're always like, oh Drew, you're so not cool enough to be around me, you're a little fairy hobbit with bad sweaters, you say things that are really dumb around -- "  
  
Tucker gave his brother a quick smack to the back of the head. "Retract the force shield, Drew." He looked annoyed still, but gave a small, kind smile. "We'll spend the afternoon together. Don't go all bitch on me, 'kay?"  
  
"Kay," muttered Andrew. He was placated, but not satisfied.  
  
Tucker grabbed a heavy bookbag off a chair. Though he'd grown, he was still thin. The weight caused him to stumble slightly, but he regained his balance and tried to look unaffected. "Have some cereal, watch TV, whatever. If you want to see the museum, you can't miss it. Not even *you* can get lost."  
  
Andrew was pouting again. "I don't need you to explain everything to me like I'm some little kid."  
  
"But you are." Tucker ruffled his brother's hair. "You're still my kid brother."  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, across campus, in a room in which Tucker will arrive in six minutes' time:  
  
She paced the room restlessly.  
  
As if circumstances weren't difficult enough with Tucker being so goddamn inept with his summoning, now he was baby-sitting his stupid baby brother for the week.   
  
Things may have gone much faster had she not brought Tucker into the plot. Now he was in, however, and she'd have to deal with him in partnership in order to perform the ritual. Which needed to happen soon -- sooner than soon -- before the astral window slammed shut.  
  
"Unless..." Zillah's forehead creased in thought, and she crossed the room to her antique desk. Papers were stacked in neat piles atop it; she sorted through, careful not to disrupt the order, until she found that which she was seeking.  
  
Her unblinking eyes scanned the page, then lit up with joy. She gave a low chuckle, sinister as any villain older and more evil than herself, and grinned behind the paper.  
  
"Keen."  
  
* * *  
  
The museum, surprisingly, was quite a letdown. Andrew had seen fossils before, and old bones. He enjoyed the mutated fetuses and such, pickled in jars that lined a section of wall.   
  
The book collection was somewhat impressive, but Andrew had read most of the questionable books, and a good many of the "evil" tomes could be found at Sunnydale High's library. Before it exploded, that is. A sign stated that more volumes could be found "with particular permissions" in the vault. Naturally, Andrew was off to the vault.  
  
As he approached the main desk, a middle-aged woman seated behind it smiled at him. "May I help you?"  
  
Andrew nodded, shyly. "Uh... I was wondering... if that pickled squid is actually a big normal squid, or a baby giant squid."  
  
"Actually, it's an octopus." She'd hardly blinked before answering. "Medium-sized."  
  
"Ah..." Andrew nodded in response, like it'd been the most fascinating thing he'd heard all day. Now that he'd broken the ice, he casually asked, "Can I go see the stuff in the vault?"  
  
The woman took in Andrew's baby face and messy hair. "Do you attend classes at Miskatonic?"   
  
"Uh." He shook his head slightly. "No," he said in a deflated voice.  
  
"Access to the books and artifacts in the vault is restricted to students and researchers only with written permission from certain members of the staff." She adjusted her glasses and looked down at the disappointed young man. "I'm sorry, but the contents are much too -- "  
  
"Eldritch?" Andrew supplied.  
  
"I was going to say fragile, but that too."  
  
"Oh." Andrew did his best to look serious and mature. "I would be very careful with the books. And... and I wouldn't even touch the other things. I have a lot of fragile things at home. My comics, my action figures... and I only broke one of those, and that was only 'cause my friend Jonathan had a little mishap with some Pop Rocks and -- "  
  
He felt a little funny, like his insides were drying out. The woman gave a mysterious smile and turned her attention from him; a moment later, she handed Andrew a note written on a Garfield post-it.  
  
"I've got a lecture to give in ten minutes' time. If you're still interested in ...eldritch things... give that note a glance later tonight." She'd risen from her seat as she talked, and lifted her tote over her shoulder.   
  
"Okay," Andrew said absently. He was staring at the post-it; Garfield was cutting all the Mondays out of a calendar. Andrew Wells is prohibited from entering restricted areas of the campus, read the pretty cursive writing. This includes areas of the museum, library, labs and catacombs. It was signed Ms. Hepzibah Haelstrom.  
  
Her name sounded like a character out of a fantasy book. Andrew was afraid he'd said that aloud, but looking up, discovered he was alone in front of the desk. Which was just as well, since if she'd still been here, Andrew would've given her a stern piece of his mind. Just like he'd done earlier, with Tucker.   
  
Looking over the note again, he cursed Ms. Hepzibah Haelstrom. He cursed her stylish glasses, her shallow crow's feet and her nice penmanship. And when did he tell her his name?   
  
* * * 


	3. When It Rains, It Pours

* * *  
  
"Did you get to see the Leng exhibit?"  
  
Andrew nodded and swallowed another spoonful of warm white mush.  
  
Dinner was courtesy of Colonel Sanders that night. Tucker had brought home Andrew's favorite: a large container of mashed faux-tatoes, plain, no gravy. ("You know that has absolutely no nutritional content, don't you?" Tucker had admonished.) After spending half the day with Zillah, he'd been looking forward to a little brotherly interaction, but Andrew had been mostly quiet and withdrawn.  
  
"Those photographs of Antarctica," Tucker said conversationally, "can only be seen in the museum. There's a condition that they not be widely published; in fact, they're usually put away in the vault, but you lucked out by visiting at -- " His brother didn't seem to be listening, so Tucker stopped talking and concentrated on eating.  
  
Five minutes later, Andrew mused absently, "Someone should start a mashed potato delivery service."  
  
"Yeah," said Tucker. It was one of the dumbest ideas he'd ever heard, but he'd rather have inane-chatter Andrew than quietly-thoughtful Andrew. And so he agreed, hoping his little brother would continue and say something else. He didn't, and the meal lapsed into silence once again.  
  
And again, it was Andrew who broke that silence, minutes later. "Do you know Ms Haelstrom? In the museum?"  
  
"Haelstrom?" Tucker swallowed his macaroni. "Yeah. The Haelstrom family has donated a load of Dark Arts books to the library. A few have wound up in the vault, even. I think there's always been one of them on staff. Watching the family artifacts, taking advantage of faculty perks, that kinda stuff."  
  
"Oh." At his brother's curious look, Andrew began rummaging in his pocket. "She, uh... I spoke with her earlier, in the museum? And --" He pulled the note out, " -- she wrote that I... am granted... access... to..." Andrew trailed off as he studied the note. He'd wager his life-sized cardboard Xena that the note hadn't said that earlier.  
  
"Access to...?" prompte Tucker.  
  
"A, uh... it's permission to borrow Haven Haelstrom's journal from the library," Andrew replied, trying to mask the confusion in his voice. He tried to sound as if that's what he'd meant to say, instead of just reading it for the first time.  
  
"Seriously?" Tucker snatched the note from his hand and read it. "Wow," he muttered in conclusion. "Pretty impressive, Drew. What'd you have to do to convince her?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked at his brother.  
  
"Oh, I just -- Tucker! Gross!" Andrew swatted at Tucker, then grabbed the note away from the snickering boy. "For your information, I just *asked*. Nicely."  
  
Tucker nodded in consideration. "I should try that. Maybe then they'll let me check out Extradimensional Teleportation for Dummies."  
  
By now, Andrew was scraping the bottom of his styrofoam container for the last bits of delightfully bland faux-tato. "So," he jammed the last spoonful of mush in his mouth, "what'd you and Zillah do today?"  
  
Tucker blushed. "We... uh, summoned things, and... runes..."  
  
"I thought you had an essay?" asked Andrew unsurely.  
  
"That's what I meant," Tucker said, barely batting an eye. "An essay. On... runes."  
  
Andrew nodded thoughtfully, then said, "I'm not too good with runes. My friend Jonathan, though, he's pretty good with them."   
  
With a snort, Tucker rolled his eyes. "You're still hanging out with that little poseur?"  
  
"Yeah," he replied in a small voice. "Jonathan's okay."  
  
"Drew, even Warren's better than that little goblin. I can't believe -- "  
  
Sharply, Andrew changed the subject. "How long have you and Zillah been together?"  
  
"A while," shrugged Tucker. "Couple months."  
  
"And..." He tried to think up suitable questions to ask; anything to keep Tucker from criticizing his choice in friends. "Uh, how'd you meet?"  
  
A wistful smile crossed Tucker's face. "We met at a student art exhibit. She was morose because her piece had to be removed -- it was attracting flies, you see..."  
  
Andrew shuddered inwardly.  
  
"I said I was sorry over the loss of her project, and we got to talking. Well, when I mentioned I was from Sunnydale, we both really clicked, and ended up talking until dawn."  
  
"How romantic," muttered Andrew. He'd be happier for his brother if Zillah hadn't been an evil toad-woman. Surely he couldn've done better.  
  
Tucker shook his head, detecting his brother's sarcasm. "I really don't see how you don't like her. You two have a lot in common, actually."  
  
"I don't not like her!" protested Andrew. He hoped he sounded sincere.  
  
"But you don't *like* her, Drew."  
  
"Do I have to?" whined Andrew. "I mean, you don't need my approval or anything."  
  
Tucker frowned. He'd been twirling his fork in his fingers somewhat nervously, and now placed it down on the table. "Andrew," he'd taken on that older brother tone that made Andrew wince every time, "you can't dislike Zillah just because she scares you. She may be different, but she's really nice, once you get to know her." After letting that sink in for a moment, Tucker added, "Besides. Women usually scare you."  
  
"Only when they're descended from giant frogs," Andrew shot back. He regretted it as soon as he'd said it, and regretted it even more when he saw Tucker's eyes narrow and his jaw clench.  
  
"I thought you'd matured enough that I could have an adult conversation with you." He'd risen from his seat and was stiffly clearing leftover dinner trash from the small table.  
  
Andrew rose from the table as well. "I'm... I'm going to get that book now," he said awkwardly.   
  
Tucker responded with a curt nod. "Don't be out too late."  
  
"Won't," muttered Andrew.  
  
* * *  
  
The library was empty, which surprised Andrew. He'd expected it should be full of students -- isn't that what college was about? Evenings spent with your nose in a book?  
  
A man at the main desk looked up expectantly as Andrew approached. "It's so empty. Where is everyone?"  
  
The man stared a moment, looking bored. He then asked, "What do you need?"  
  
Andrew handed the post-it from his pocket to the man, who looked it over intently. He mused for a moment, then pocketed the slip. "Normally you wouldn't be able to do this. All checkouts require a student ID."  
  
"Oh," said Andrew, "That's -- "  
  
"Can't really control what Hepzibah does with her own books. If she thinks some kid..." The muttering faded as he walked away, post-it in hand.  
  
Andrew was left alone as the man vanished into a back room. It was ten minutes before he came back, and with him, he carried a thin leather-bound book. "Here it is. Take care of it -- I guess that goes without saying. If Haelstrom trusts you enough to take the journals, I'm not one to say different."  
  
The book was light and the leather covering it was peeled and worn in places. It looked as if it once had a latch over the pages, which had at some point fallen off. Andrew opened it, gazing reverently: Haven Haelstrom, the inside cover read in ancient, faded ink, March 1792. Andrew closed it and held it tightly against his chest.   
  
"Thanks," he said, turning to leave. Holding the book, he felt like he'd been transported to a different world. All Andrew wanted was to get back to Tucker's dorm so he could start reading.   
  
Andrew paused in realization.  
  
Actually, all Andrew wanted was to get back to Tucker's room, period. With only a vague idea of the way, it'd be a miracle if he got back.  
  
As he walked away, he could hear the old man call after him: "You'll wanna be careful what you read... there's no such thing as unlearning, you know."  
  
* * *  
  
Hours had passed. Tucker wondered how his brother was doing. He felt a pang of guilt leaving Andrew yet again that day. He was supposed to be spending time with his little brother, but he'd been spending it all with Zillah. As if he couldn't see her every other day.  
  
Tucker had been close to Andrew before he'd left for college. The boys were close in age and shared many interests, including demon summoning. When the Slayer thwarted his attack on the school prom, Tucker was comforted by a similarly dateless Andrew. When Holden Webster kissed Andrew backstage during Drama Club, it was his older brother that heard all about it.   
  
Yawning, Zillah finished her chant and tossed the remaining shred of evil ingredient into the flame. "Done," she said, wiping her dirty hands on her jeans. It'd been a particularly complex spell to cast, and had taken hours. She was finding it hard to keep the look of extreme pride off her gray little face.  
  
"That was it?" Tucker looked disappointed. He'd been expecting elaborate explosions, a show of colored lights, maybe the screams of damned souls...  
  
Zillah quirked an eyebrow. "For living on the Hellmouth, you have had very little contact with actual magicks."  
  
"What little I've had," snorted Tucker, "looked less like Martha Stewart Living and more like -- "  
  
"Siegfried and Roy?"  
  
With an exasperated sigh, he snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. "Sure, Z. Lycra jumpsuits and all."  
  
She frowned in his direction. "Where are you going?"  
  
"It's..." Tucker checked his watch. "...2:03 in the morning. I'm going back to my room for sleep." As he pulled his jacket on, he said, his voice tinged with guilt, "Besides, I want to make sure Andrew got back safely."  
  
"Of course he did," she said flippantly.  
  
Irately, he replied, "Adding prophecy to your resume now?"  
  
Tension swarmed around them like gnats, only with more metaphor. During their time together, the couple had bickered occasionally, but this was different. Tucker had always been with her completely when it came to their spells; now this was the most important ritual of Zillah's life so far, and he'd behaved as if they were simply summoning Pringles from the 7-11.  
  
Turning away, he uttered, "Night, Z."  
  
"Night, Tucker," she growled through sharp, clenched teeth.  
  
Two nights left. Tucker had better stop screwing around like some weekend warlock. She'd been relying on his help with this summoning and knew there wasn't any way she could pull it off without him. If tomorrow didn't go well, Zillah was going to be his worst nightmare.  
  
Literally.  
  
Absently picking a bit of dead animal flesh from under her nail, she mused that Tucker had been correct about one thing: the mixture did not end with ingredients stewing in a fiery cauldron like Chicken 'N' Stars from Hell.   
  
Heard by no earthly ears, Zillah chanted words contained only in the vault of Miskatonic's library.  
  
Clouds converged over Arkham, and split open in a sudden downpour.  
  
* * *  
  
The room seemed exceptionally dark as Tucker entered. He couldn't place what was different at first; then, noticed that every electrical light source -- even the blinking digital 12:00 on the VCR -- was dark and the only light came gray through the closed curtains.  
  
"Andrew?" He called, squinting against the black.  
  
Had there been a power outage? Surely not, as the entire building would then be out. And where the devil was his brother? Tucker frowned, worried. He'd been with Zillah all night. He felt neglectful. He was a very bad brother, and a very bad human being.  
  
A weak voice came from the bed. "Tucker?"  
  
Tucker exhaled a sigh of relief. "Andrew... Andrew, what happened? You feeling okay?"  
  
"I don't think so." Andrew's small voice shook. "I feel all cold. And, and dizzy." The boy crawled into his big brother's arms as Tucker sank down on the bed next to him. "I had a headache. The light made it worse."  
  
Tucker stroked his brother's hair, letting his palm linger on Andrew's forehead. "You're all clammy," he said, barely whispering so as not to worsen Andrew's headache. "Lay back down. I'll get you some Advil, but I'm gonna have to turn on the light."  
  
A messy blond head pressed itself into the pillow, whining in a most Andrewish way. When Tucker flipped the main light on, he could see his brother more clearly: body curled under the blankets, fists clutching the pillow, smothering his face from the brightness. Shit, thought Tucker. He left Andrew alone for a few hours, and the boy wound up with the flu. Mom was going to kill him.  
  
With as little noise as was possible, Tucker fetched a glass of water and bottle of painkillers for his brother. He saw Andrew's grip on the pillow had lessened and thought he may have fallen asleep.  
  
"Drew..." He laid a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "I have, uh..."  
  
Tucker trailed off as his brother raised his head. The skin of his face was devoid of color and abnormally tight. Eyes that were usually playful and blue appeared to be opaque pools of black, ringed by bruise-colored shadows.  
  
"Tucker?"  
  
He quickly looked away, thrusting the glass of water and pills at Andrew. "Here. I'll sleep on the couch. If... If you need anything..."  
  
* * * 


End file.
